The Idea of Perfect
by colourmydreams
Summary: Everything should be perfect now; he’s got the girl and the life that he wanted – so why doesn’t it feel better? BDA!Clark


**Disclaimer**: Have you seen that episode of Friends where Phoebe says that if she bought a pair of boots for some money she didn't deserve the boots would go "Notnot mine, notnot mine"? Yeah that's about it, not mine.

**Spoilers**: Up to the horrible Power (I feel the need to quote Kurtz "The horror! The horror!" I pretty sure he thought of Clana).

**Author's Note**: I was going to write something else, some kind of continuation of TET, but how could I? Seriously, it was impossible to write anything happy after the abomination that was _Power_. The inspiration came partly from a scene in one of my favourite rom-coms, anyone care to guess?

**Summary**: Everything should be perfect now; he's got the girl and the life that he wanted – so why doesn't it feel better?

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_The idea of perfect closes your mind to new standards. When you drive hard toward one ideal, you miss opportunities and paths, not to mention hurting your confidence. Believe in your potential and then go out and explore it; don't limit it._

--John Eliot, Ph.D

**The Idea of Perfect**

It was a Saturday again, early February and the weather was as nice as it could be, had been for some time now. The last snow was gone and you could feel spring in the air.

Clark had spent his week the way he always did, writing his articles and copying others in the basement of the Daily Planet. The police radio beside him on the desk always on and turned down low. As soon as a call of distress or one for back up came through he'd analyze it – should he go himself or let Lana deal? Sometimes they were both needed.

He wondered why it didn't feel more… perfect.

Since he first set foot in the basement Monday morning he'd longed for the weekend, which was another strange thing because he used to love coming to work. Get there early with a mug of steaming coffee, getting started on some miniscule and unimportant article that still felt great to be writing. But something was off and though he tried to ignore it the "off-ness" sort off _hummed_ all around him, making his skin crawl and the longing for Saturday to intensify.

The great weather didn't exactly make the walk down to the dark basement any easier, and as he woke up in his bed (Lana sleeping heavily on the other side) when that Saturday at long last arrived he let out a content sigh. The sun shone through the window and he would finally get to spend a quiet day on the farm, going through the chores and checking up on everything and anything that he might have missed during the week.

Except, Lana didn't want a quiet day on the farm, she wanted speed and excitement. And though he was impressed by her passion for saving lives and he admired what she did with the powers that so much resembled his own – he just really wanted a day off.

For some reason he felt that he couldn't tell Lana that. She wouldn't understand, she wasn't the kind of girl to settle down in front of a movie or challenge him to a game of "Guitar Hero". She might have been once, but with his powers at her disposal she was continuously crackling with energy, wanting to speed around the globe or look for injustice in every corner. He tried not to think too much about it – because this was all he ever wanted (right?) – but sometimes that thought would pop up in his head, _did we always have such different priorities?_

That's how they ended up walking down the streets of Little Bohemia. Clark wanted a calm day on the farm, Lana wanted excitement and proposed a speedy trip to Paris. They settled on speeding to Metropolis to enjoy the early spring in the arts district and maybe have a croissant at a café (although Clark would have preferred a donut or a slice of pie).

He came to the conclusion that this was actually kind of nice. Lana knew all about him and could now do what he did, being with her was easy and the fact that they could have sex with without him having to worry that she would get hurt didn't exactly make things worse. Not that she was very sexual, for some reason it was never Lana he pictured those lonely nights when the hand's repetitive motions built to a climax… But she was warm and it was nice having someone close, he liked waking up next to another person, even if she always did end up on the other side if the bed.

When they both had finished their _café-au-lait_ they decided to do some window-shopping and there was a gallery Lana had been dying to visit.

As they walked past a vintage bookshop something made Clark stop and look inside. At first he didn't even register what he was seeing or why it had caught his attention – a woman stood in front of a bookshelf looking at the titles. As she flipped her long hair back and pulled out a hardback he recognized her,

"Isn't that Lois?"

Lana stepped up beside him and peered through the glass, "Yeah, I guess it is. As I was saying, the gallery just acquired this piece by…" She tried to pull him along, but superpowers or not, Clark stood his ground.

"I didn't know she was back yet, have you talked to Chloe recently? Did she say that Lois is was back in town?"

Lana huffed "No, I don't know, it's been kind of hectic, do you want to go in and say hi or something?"

"What? No, that's ok… Does her hair look darker to you? I mean, the light isn't the best in there, but it does, doesn't it? Almost like yours but _fuller_, oh, um, not that yours isn't."

This time she didn't even bother to comment but tried to get her body language to show that she wasn't pleased, not that Clark was looking at her… "Is she wearing a green shirt? She never wears that colour… Red, blue and that dark pink, maybe some yellow, but I don't think I've ever seen her in green…"

"So she bought a new shirt in Star City, Clark. Why does it even matter? We should probably…" And then she didn't even have time to finish her sentence this time, as a man walked up behind Lois and started reading over her back.

"That's Oliver! Why is… What have… I don't, um, do you think they're back together again? That doesn't make any sense…"

"Well, maybe that's a good thing? I might not know Lois as well as you do, Clark, but she and Oliver were good together, weren't they? And you told me that Lois knows he's the Green Arrow so they're on the same page, they both know now, like we do Clark. Don't you want them to have the same thing that we do?" And even though she said it in her most _loving_ voice and her hand was placed _lovingly_ on Clark's bicep, he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from the two people on the other side of the glass.

"I don't think it would be such a great idea for them to get back together again, I can't believe she'd just forget how much it hurt her when Oliver left! Lois is smarter than that, you know they're probably just friends I don't think Lois would give it another try." He nodded decisively as to convince himself that what he said was true, "I wonder why Ollie didn't tell me she was back."

Lana ignored him and took a closer look at the book in Lois' hands. "She's holding 'The Scarlet Pimpernel' that's ironic." Clark didn't look like he was listening, "With the whole double identity thing… You know, I am just going to go ahead and walk to the gallery, you can come by anytime you're done staring at Lois." And without waiting for his answer she walked away.

The trance he was in slipped a little and Clark called after her, "I'll catch up with you, I'm just gonna…" But the little hand gesture he made to finish of the sentence he didn't know _how_ to finish was wasted, as Lana didn't turn around.

But another person turned and when Clark looked through the window again his eyes got caught in the hazel orbs of Lois Lane.

For a few seconds they were trapped in each others gaze, Lois looking surprised, Clark not knowing what to do. It felt silly to even think, but to Clark it seemed as if time itself had stopped. Just as he decided to raise his hand in a wave Lois briskly broke the connection and turned away, grabbing Oliver and walking deeper into the store. Clark was left behind with a raised hand and a goofy smile.

And heavy, wet snow started falling, the huge flakes landing in his hair and on his shoulders, melting on impact and soaking his coat. What happened to his nice Saturday?

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**AN2**: I still feel like I was too nice writing Clark (though I have first class seat on the Optimism Train I want him to hurt!), but I just love the stupid BDA, I blame Tom Welling.


End file.
